Still You

by Claire Allan

  “Auntie Áine,” Jonathan tried to soothe her, stepping forward.

  Áine looked at him as if she was seeing him for the first time. “Who are you? I don’t know who you are. Why are you calling me ‘Auntie Áine’? What have you both done?”

  I watched as Jonathan moved towards his aunt and took her hands in his. She shrugged him away forcefully – for a small, old woman she was surprisingly strong – but, undeterred, he took her hands again.

  “Auntie Áine, it’s me, Jonathan. Let’s just calm down.”

  “Do you think I’m mad?” she shouted back, freeing herself from his grip and slapping him hard across the face. “You’re not Jonathan. Jonathan is ten! He’s coming here with Emma. I have the room ready. I have it all ready. I’ve tried to make it perfect because I know it will be hard for them without their mammy. I don’t understand why you would say that! I don’t understand what you have done.”

  “Please, Auntie Áine,” Jonathan pleaded, the red welt on his face angry-looking.

  “Stop calling me that!” she shouted, pushing him from her and looking around the room.

  I stepped forward, feeling completely out of my depth and, if I was honest with myself, I was also scared of what she might do – and I hated myself for feeling that way.

  “Áine, please. Let’s just calm down. No one has done anything. I know this is scary – I know you are a little confused.”

  Áine looked at me, her anger passing as quickly as it had started, tears falling down her cheeks as she wrung her hands together. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand. I had it all ready. I had new pyjamas and teddies and pictures of Charlotte. I wanted it to be perfect. I don’t understand what is happening. Why is that man telling me he is Jonathan? Who are you? I’m scared.”

  “Áine, do you know who I am?” I asked softly.

  Áine looked at me intently as if trying to find some hint of familiarity in my face. “I don’t know,” she sobbed.

  I took her hands. “You can trust me, Áine,” I said. “No one is trying to trick you. I promise you. I know this seems scary but you are safe. Will we go downstairs for a cup of tea?”

  Áine nodded. “But I don’t want him,” she whispered, nodding towards Jonathan. “I want my Jonathan. My sweet boy.”

  “Okay,” I said, as I watched Jonathan, looking utterly defeated, step out of the way. “We won’t do anything you don’t want to. But how about we go and sit in the kitchen so you can look out at the garden? I’ll make a cup of tea.”

  “I’m scared,” Áine whispered.

  “I know,” I said as I ushered her downstairs, Jonathan following us.

  “I don’t know what’s happening,” she said. “Where’s my mother? Why isn’t she here? We need to have the house ready.”

  “It’s okay,” I soothed as I led her into the sitting room.

  “Should we call a doctor?” Jonathan asked from where he stood, nervously, at the door.

  “I think that might be a good idea,” I said, not taking my eyes from Áine who was becoming visibly more distressed again. “The contact details are by the phone. Tell them she has had all her medication, but has seemed out of sorts for a few days – and now this. Tell them she’s shaking and, if I’m not mistaken,” I said, putting my hand to Áine’s forehead, “she has a bit of a fever.”

  Jonathan nodded and headed to the hall.

  I tried to get Áine to focus on me – to look in my eyes. “Áine, are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m scared,” she said.

  “I know, but does anything hurt? Physically, do you feel unwell?”

  But it was clear she was past reason – and my heart went out to her. She looked like a frightened child. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like – to be so afraid of what was happening and yet have no idea why.

  “The doctor is calling up. He will be here as soon as he can,” Jonathan said from the doorway.

  “Where is my mother?” Áine called, looking at him. “Where is she? I need her.”

  “She’ll be here soon,” I lied, not sure if it was the right thing to do or not, but I feared for the reaction she might have if I told her the truth. I wasn’t sure she would able to understand the truth.

  Jonathan didn’t move from the doorway. Áine was keening in the chair but more quietly now, as if she was channelling all her energy into keeping herself from collapsing under the weight of her confusion.

  “I never expected this – not yet. Not for her to be so bad.” He sounded so sad – so far removed from the confident and assured man I knew.

  “This illness,” I said, “it’s awfully cruel.”

  He nodded and jumped as the doorbell rang, heralding the arrival of the doctor.

  I hadn’t expected Áine to end up in hospital – but when Dr Robbins arrived he was not “one bit happy” with Áine’s condition. He confirmed she was indeed feverish and trying to get any sense out of her was proving impossible.

  “I don’t think it would do any harm to get her into hospital for a few tests,” he said. “Sometimes another illness – a viral one or an infection – can play havoc with dementia patients. It could explain why she is so agitated and confused.”

  “So this isn’t permanent?” Jonathan asked hopefully.

  “Your aunt has dementia – by its very nature it’s permanent. But this state now? Hopefully not. Although without tests, without treatment, it’s hard to tell.”

  Jonathan looked almost as lost as his aunt as I drove us both to the hospital behind the ambulance. He didn’t speak for most of the journey but I could tell his mind was racing.

  “Let’s just see how it goes when we get to the hospital,” I said. “We’ll not get ourselves into a real tizzy until they do their tests.”

  “I should call Emma,” Jonathan said. “Ask her to bring forward her visit. It might help.”

  “It might,” I said, with a degree of confidence I certainly didn’t feel.

  Jonathan took a deep breath to steady himself as we pulled into a parking space. “I don’t think I’m ready for any of this,” he said.

  Then we got out and walked towards A&E.

  Áine made a pitiful sight in the hospital bed. Her hair hung loosely around her face – I made a mental note to buy some dry shampoo and a soft brush to help tidy her up when she was fit. Áine would hate to see herself like this. She was asleep – still under sedation, the nurses said. Easier for everyone, they said. Let the antibiotics work, get her hydrated, let her rest. I didn’t want to ask if it was just so that nurses wouldn’t have to try and answer 101 questions they couldn’t possibly know the answer to – or deal with the frantic cries of a distressed woman.

  The ward was quiet and warm. Áine was wrapped in blankets. A jug of water sat by her bed even though she was clearly in no state to drink. Jonathan wasn’t there. He had gone home for a shower and to rearrange his appointments for the days to come. I suspected he also just needed a breather. He had looked like a haunted man as the doctors fussed around Áine and tried to make her comfortable.

  I sat on the high-backed chair by Áine’s bed – and took her hand in mine. It was already blue with bruises from the cannula in her hand. I made a second mental note to bring over her nail polishes and hand creams and treat her to a manicure when she was back to herself.

  If she was ever back to herself.

  “Oh Áine,” I said, “don’t leave us yet. Jonathan needs you so much. I need you too.”

  A portly nurse arranging flowers on the windowsill looked at me and gave me a soft smile. “This one will be fine. I don’t think she’s going anywhere. A wee kidney infection. She’ll be right as rain in a few days. That’s the way with dementia patients. They might be weak in some areas, but they have the hearts of lions. They hold on for a long time.”

  “It’s not her heart I’m worried about,” I said. “I want all of her to hold on for as long as possible.”

  “Is she your mother, pet?”

  “No … no, she�
�s my friend. My very dear friend.”

  The nurse bustled past me. “Don’t expect miracles with dementia patients, love. They don’t happen and, even when they do, they are only temporary. If you really care about your friend, you need to accept that in many ways she won’t ever get better.”

  The nurse left the room and I looked at Áine’s sleeping form. I couldn’t be entirely sure I wasn’t just imagining it – but there was a slight change in her expression. That stubborn look of determination I imagined she had worn when she decided to take Jonathan and Emma on as her own. Yes – there was the slightest, tiniest hint of a change in Áine which I took to mean ‘Just you watch me’.

  “You tell her, Áine,” I whispered, wiping a tear away. “You tell her.”

  Chapter 35

  Present Day

  “We’ve reduced her sedation. She’s still quite confused but that is natural with infections such as these. But as soon as the antibiotics really kick in and she is full hydrated again, she should be more herself. Hopefully she will become less confused.” The nurse on evening duty was friendly and spoke in a soothing tone, looking at Áine the whole time she talked. “She’s a lovely old woman. Is she your mother?”

  We shook our heads in unison before Jonathan spoke. “No, no. She’s my aunt and Georgina here is … a family friend. My aunt didn’t have any children of her own. She never married.”

  The nurse looked at us, her face clouding with sadness. “Oh, that is sad. I’d say she was quite the looker in her day too. I wouldn’t have thought she would have had a problem finding a husband.”

  The nurse was clearly fishing for Áine’s life story.

  “My aunt cared for my sister and me,” Jonathan said, tenderly taking Áine’s hand. “Our mother died, so she took on the role herself. I don’t suppose she found the time for a husband having the pair of us running around her feet. We were enough to keep anyone busy.” He forced a laugh and the nurse smiled warmly at him.

  “Well, it seems to me, if you spend so much time at her bedside now, she must have done a great job.”

  “She did,” Jonathan said. “You’d never find a more loving creature.”

  At that Áine’s eyes flickered open, slowly. She made to speak but coughed and reached for her throat.

  “I think she wants a drink,” the nurse said, pouring some fresh water and getting a straw.

  “Here, I’ll do it,” Jonathan replied, gently helping his aunt to quench her thirst.

  I watched them together – watched Áine’s eyes light up at the sight of her nephew beside her. She tenderly lifted her hand to his cheek and stroked it softly.

  “Jack,” she whispered. “I wondered when you would come back.”

  1965

  “I’m not sure where we go from here,” Áine said, almost in a whisper.

  She was sitting across from Jack in a small tea room in town. Her mother had watched her like a hawk since she had uncovered her relationship with Jack and it had taken almost a week before she had been able to see him alone. Rosaleen had made sure that they had no time together at all, just the two of them, when he came to the house to visit – and if he took the children out she made it exceptionally clear that Áine was not to go along with them. Áine had tried once to explain to her mother that her relationship with Jack was something they had never planned, that they only developed feelings for each other after Charlotte had died and that they had never betrayed her. But she hadn’t felt strong enough to fight too hard – especially as Emma had become withdrawn and clung to her granny morning, noon and night. As for Jonathan, he just looked confused and had a look of sadness about him that broke her heart. It saddened Áine further to think that he had already endured so much change and heartache that he just silently adapted to whatever new drama came his way.

  In that time she had craved Jack like she had never craved anything or anyone before. She had tried to find a way to see him – wondering if she could see him after school one day – but of course she needed to take the children home with her. In the end she had gone to work one day to have the school secretary tell her a young man had left her a letter. She recognised his handwriting immediately and smiled to herself when she saw that he wanted to meet her at Baptisti’s on Saturday morning. She told Rosaleen she was nipping out to the library and ran out the door before her mother had the chance to question her further. Her heart had been in her mouth since – convinced they would be found out and her mother would have yet another reason to be disappointed in her.

  But, wretched as she felt, when she saw him sitting there across that table in the tea room – those gorgeous familiar tired eyes – she had felt her heart lift. Sitting across from him, her fingertips touching his, she thought this really was the very definition of agony and ecstasy.

  “Come with me,” he said. “Come with me to Italy. Come with me and we can make it work.”

  She closed her eyes and breathed him in, letting the longing in his voice sink into her soul and warm her.

  “I can’t,” she said. “The children? My mother? Emma is so angry.”

  Jack dropped his head to his hands. “She is. She hates me just now,” he sighed. “She says I don’t love her mamma any more. But we can make it work. We can. She will come round.”

  “It would kill my mother,” Áine whispered, the reality of her words sinking in. “She has lost so much – if I went, if we went and took the children … it would kill her.”

  “You need to live your life,” Jack said, but she could tell from the tone of his voice that he already knew his words were futile. He knew she was right – that Rosaleen could simply not endure another loss. Nor could she endure the perceived scandal of her daughter running off with her other daughter’s widower. Áine had always been happy with her place in the world – but right now she felt utterly trapped. A tear slid down her face which she brushed away.

  “Don’t cry,” Jack said softly, “please don’t cry.”

  “But what do we do? We have hurt people already, Jack.”

  “We haven’t done anything wrong. Whatever happens, remind yourself of that. We did nothing wrong. We never set out to hurt anyone.”

  “I can’t hurt her any more,” Áine said. “Her health isn’t great as it is. Even before she found out about us, she was just about holding it together. Now, she’s cracking around the edges.”

  “I can’t lose you either,” he whispered.

  “Nor me you.”

  They sat in silence, listening to the chatter around them, the tinny sound of the radio and the sound of the rain hitting the windows.

  “We can make it work,” Jack said eventually. “Write to me still and I will write to you.”

  “I imagine my mother will be keeping a tighter grip on the post from now on.”

  “Well, I will write to you at the school, or to a post box, or whatever it takes to stay in touch. And, when I visit, we will find the time to be together in some way. And you come to Italy – in the summer. You put your foot down and you come with the children … and we … we will make it work.”

  She gripped his hand as tight as she could. She knew he was travelling back the following day. He was set to visit the children later but she wouldn’t have the chance to talk to him let alone hug him, or kiss him. Briefly she put her hand to his face and he kissed the palm of her hand. She would have left her hand there for a long time, she would have kissed him across the table, if she wasn’t so scared she could make things worse.

  “We’ll do it,” she whispered. “Whatever it takes.”

  “Whatever it takes,” he whispered back.

  He walked her home – or at least to the bottom of her street. Then he stood, aware of the daylight, of the neighbours, of the scandal that Rosaleen feared so much and he told her that she had fixed what he thought had been broken forever and that he was not prepared to let go.

  Present Day

  Emma was not what I expected. I had expected a harsh and cold exterior. I had heard how
she had not visited her aunt in five years – not even when she had her diagnosis. I had heard of the child who been so hurt by her aunt’s relationship with her father. I had heard that when she turned eighteen she could barely wait to leave the confines of Temple Muse and move to England where she had made a life for herself. I had heard that her relationship with her brother had been strained – perfunctory at best. That while they kept in touch, he would never describe their relationship as close. I had heard how she was coming to visit Áine now out of a sense of duty rather than a sense of affection – certainly not the same level of affection that Jonathan felt.

  So I was surprised when Jonathan and I watched this grown woman, elegantly dressed in a soft linen suit, dissolve into mournful tears at the sight of her aunt in a hospital bed. While Áine still slept, this woman, who appeared at the door of the ward looking scared and sad, walked straight to her hospital bed and sat beside her, resting her head beside Aine’s hand and telling her she loved her so very much, and she was sorry.

  I felt awkward as I was intruding on a very personal family scene and I stood to leave, to just stand outside for a bit and let them have their moment – their chance to reunite. But Jonathan put his hand on mine, bidding me to stay seated.

  “Auntie Áine!” Emma wept.

  I watched as Áine’s hand reached over her niece, patting her back, and her eyes opened and tried to take in the sight before her.

  “My Emma? My sweet Emma, you’ve come home.”

  Emma reached out to her aunt, tears now flowing freely. “Oh Auntie Áine, I’m sorry. I should have been here sooner. I’ve been so hard on you.”

  “Hush now, pet,” Áine said. “You’re here. Everyone is here.”